Cowboy Bebop
By Amos Whirly
Chapter Three: Enter the Raven
The wind rustled through his dark green hair as he walked quickly toward the spaceport in Tharsis City. The soles of his shoes clapped hollowly on the sidewalks, and the vehicles that sped past him thrummed like huge bumblebees.
He stopped as a particularly large tanker truck squealed dangerously around a corner, its tires screeching in protest as the heavy rig strained to obey its driver's command. The breeze it generated caused his black slacks and shirt to flap around his slender frame.
He waited for the street to clear, and he crossed to the spaceport's main entrance. As he stepped into the enormous building, he stopped in the lobby and looked upward. Multiple levels towered above him. People scurried all around him.
And the familiar whine of space drives caused all the glass to quiver.
He swallowed hard and started walking. He walked until he reached the gate admittance area. He ignored the apprehension that had risen in the back of his throat as the guards checked him for weapons. Though they gave his empty eye socket a curious glance, they allowed him to enter.
Glad they didn't find anything, he thought absently to himself.
For hours, he wandered all over the port, staring at the incoming and outgoing ships. He watched them land. He watched them take off and soar into the clear blue of the generated atmosphere.
It was all familiar.
The squeal of the engines – the smell of the jet fuel – the storm of air currents around the wings – the image of clouds swirling like something tangible around the nose cone – it was all hauntingly familiar.
He clenched his fist as a small red jet launched into the sky. He watched it barrel roll and bank into the clouds.
"Why can't I remember?" he muttered, pounding his fist gently on the viewing glass that separated the port from the landing area.
He let his fist fall to his side, and he turned, walking slowly toward the guard station. The sun had already faded from view, and the moons were shining brightly against the quickly darkening sky.
I've been here long enough, he thought. Just go back and sleep. Maybe it'll come to you.
The guards nodded at him as he exited the gate area.
Wait a second, he suddenly stopped, a strange sensation washing over him like an icy wind. I don't have a gun. Why was I nervous when the guards were checking me? He glanced at the guards who were staring openly at him.
He turned away and started walking toward the street.
Would I even know how to use a gun? he wondered. Maybe I used to carry one – before I lost my memory. Maybe that's why I was so sure the guards wouldn't let me in.
He shook his head and pushed the glass doors open, stepping outside into the cool night air.
It's nothing, his mind told him. You're just imagining things. Grasping at straws. Desperate for anything that can tell you who you are. He snorted. Who I was.
He walked down the sidewalk, ignoring the stares and pointed fingers from the people around him. As he ambled toward his apartment, he glanced at the sky, admiring the stars that sparkled in the darkness.
I've seen them before, he thought to himself. I was closer than this. But were they closer to me or was I closer to them?
He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, just staring.
A footstep sounded behind him.
Slowly, he turned to face a tall man with dark hair and hidden eyes. He stood partially in the shadow cast by a lamppost. Surrounding him were at least a dozen burly men.
A foreign sensation surged through his veins like a bolt of lightning.
"Awfully late to be out walking around alone," the man in the lead commented with a nod to his men.
A chorus of dark chuckles burst from the men's throats as they surrounded the green-haired man in the darkness of the street.
"This is going to be easy," one of them said. "He's only got one eye!"
His heart was pounding against his ribcage, but for some reason he felt calm. A sense of peace descended over his mind and heart even as the crowd of men encompassed him.
What's wrong with me? he thought. These guys are going to kick my butt.
One of the men started forward.
No, his mind jolted. They won't.
The ruffian lunged, but his victim ducked under the attack.
Kick, he thought.
He lashed out with his right leg as the man charged and drove his heel into the man's midsection. He grabbed the man's collar and hurled him into an alleyway. He punched another attacker in the nose, kicked a second in the back of the knee, and grabbed the shoulders of a fourth, flipping him head-over-heels into a wall.
The lead man ran at him like a raging bull, but he snapped the palm of his hand into the man's face. The attacker stumbled backward, and he drove the man into the wall with his foot.
He stood there, his foot under his attacker's chin, the men scattered around him.
"Not bad," the leader laughed, sounding strangled. "Not bad at all. What's your name?"
"I don't know my name."
"An orphan?"
"Amnesia."
"Well, people call me Darkmoon. Kale Darkmoon."
"Are you Indian?"
"Partially," Darkmoon smirked. "My ancestors grew up on the prairies of Earth before the Gate was constructed, if that's what you're asking."
"Why are you telling me this?"
Slowly, he let his foot drop.
"Mostly because I've never met anyone who could take my boys down so fast without even breaking a sweat," Darkmoon gestured to the thugs who lay groaning on the sidewalk. "You want a job?"
"Huh?"
"A job. You know. Where you work for me?"
"Doing what?"
"This and that."
"I won't attack people on the streets."
"That's fine," he shrugged. "We were low on cash at the moment, and the men thought you might have something on you."
"Your men aren't very smart, then."
"But you are, aren't you? Come on. A few quick jobs, and we're all rich. If we can avoid the cowboys, that is."
"Cowboys?"
"Bounty hunters."
"I don't know."
"Hey," Darkmoon surged forward and set a hand on his shoulder, "why don't you just hang with us until you remember something. No strings attached. And I'll buy you an eye patch."
"You will?"
"Yeah. Looking at that empty socket of yours is just freaky."
"Thanks."
"What do you say? Are you in?"
Darkmoon extended his hand.
"Why not?" he shook Darkmoon's hand.
"Excellent," Darkmoon rejoiced. "But you need a name, my friend."
"People have been calling me 'John Doe.'"
"I hate that name. You need something descriptive."
"I won't answer to 'One-Eye.'"
"For not knowing anything about yourself, you sure have opinions, don't you? But, no, I wouldn't call you that. "
A sudden flurry above them drew their gazes to the sky. A black bird cawed noisily at them from the top of a nearby building. It flapped its wings wildly and flew out of sight.
"How about 'Raven'?"
"Raven?"
"Yeah. The Raven. Would that work for you?"
He looked at the sky and then back at his hands.
"Yeah."
"Then, the Raven it is," Darkmoon shook his hand again. "Welcome to the family. We'll be rich before you know it with you on our side."
He smiled in return and started helping the other men to their feet.
The Raven, he thought to himself. I could grow to like that.
He patted a man on the back and accepted another handshake from one of the thugs.
So why does this feel all wrong?
